


like any unloved thing

by treeviality



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Caleb Widogast, Post-Episode: c2e128, What's More Heartbreaking Than Wizards Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29947068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeviality/pseuds/treeviality
Summary: Caleb knows where comfort can be found. He remembers kisses exchanged in the quiet of the night, fingers threading through his hair, whispers murmured against his lips. He remembers feeling less alone, if only for a little while. He remembers belonging found in the dark, remembers pain melting away like candle wax.Like this, he is of no use. And he needs to make sure he can do his part.(Or: After returning to Eiselcross, Caleb goes to Essek for comfort.)
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 51
Kudos: 279





	like any unloved thing

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Writing _another_ one shot instead of working on my WIPs? It's more likely than you think! Also, please don't ask me what this story is, like, _about_. Just blame it all on the first ten seconds of the last episode. I know I do!

*

like any unloved thing  
i don’t know if i’m real  
when i’m not being touched  
\- Natalie Wee

*

Like this, he is of no use.

It’s no good, the tendrils of panic worming their way through his body, biting at old wounds from the inside. It’s no good, the fog of memories clouding his mind. His thoughts are sluggish, tangled up in old hurt. It’s like choking slowly on acrid smoke, like treading through water as it rises up.

For a while, he has managed to push the terror down. He has managed to focus on the task.

There is no task, now. Not tonight. There is nothing to occupy his mind.

He remembers fire, the element he wielded since he was a boy, simply dying out. He remembers another spell completely missing its mark. He remembers the force field, unyielding, right behind his back. He remembers Veth’s and Jester’s terror shining in their eyes. He remembers being powerless, searching for more magic, for more strength, and finding nothing.

Like this, he cannot protect his friends. Like this, he cannot be trusted to watch their backs. He cannot be relied on, cannot fight by their side. His spells will keep missing their mark, his hands will keep shaking, his mind will keep stuttering to a halt at the worst possible time.

He needs this to stop. He needs to make sure he can do his part.

And he knows where comfort can be found. He remembers touch — on his arms, on his shoulders, on his back. He remembers warmth of skin against skin. He remembers kisses exchanged in the quiet of the night, fingers threading through his hair, whispers murmured against his lips. He remembers feeling less alone, if only for a little while. He remembers belonging found in the dark, remembers pain melting away like candle wax.

He knows, of course, that it’s in the past. He knows that he can never have it back.

But he knows, as well, that there are things he can earn, with the right words, with the right touch. And he knows that there are things he has earned already, things he can take, if he doesn’t mind doing harm.

And weapons cannot mind doing harm.

The door to Essek’s room is locked. When Caleb knocks, Essek opens it by hand. 

He is still dressed in his mantle, but his heavy, fur-lined robes are gone. His hair is frizzy with humidity. His feet are planted firmly on the floor.

Caleb knows how to do this dance. He knows how to touch, how to slide his hand up someone’s jaw, how to thread his fingers through their hair, how to look up at the right moment, how to make sure that when he kisses them, the kiss will be returned. He knows how to do this, step by step, move by move, touch by touch.

But Essek steps back before he can reach out, and the dance briefly staggers to a halt.

“Please, come in,” Essek says, opening the door wider.

It leaves too much space to allow touch. This is the harder part. There must be words if there cannot be touch. And Caleb used to be good at spinning them, at saying the exact right thing at the exact right time. He used to know how to do this part, too. He used to know how to weave together threads of conversation until the tapestry of deception was done. 

But right now, he cannot find any words in his own mind.

The room is simple. Caleb himself made it that way, as he created the tower tonight. He wanted it comfortable. Safe. Warm. But he also wanted it plain. There is no table, no armchairs, no fireplace. There is only a simple desk, pressed to the wall. There is a wooden floor. And there is a bed.

Steeling his shoulders, Caleb walks inside and sits at the edge of the bed. It’s comfortable. The blanket is soft beneath his hands. Carefully, he smooths his fingers over its threads.

Essek closes the door without locking it. For a moment, he simply stands by the doorway, watching Caleb in silence. Then he sighs and walks over to the bed. There is nowhere else to sit, after all. Caleb himself made it that way.

Now, he could pick up the dance. He could shift to the side, make sure to meet Essek’s gaze, cup his cheek with his hand. He could kiss him and kiss him until candle wax melts away, until darkness descends. Perhaps his mind would go quiet, then.

But the right moment comes and then it slips away.

The silence should be uncomfortable. It should be tense. There is no trust between them. There is no friendship, no love. There is only betrayal, now on both sides. It should be uncomfortable to sit like this together, side by side.

Instead, it’s only quiet. It’s only warm. There is a flame dancing on the single candle by the bed while the candle wax slowly melts away. There are shadows moving over the plain window, over the plain walls. There is Essek’s spell book on the desk. Once, it would draw Caleb’s eye. Now, he can only think of the way this magic crushed metal and flesh and bone, of the way it stained everything with blood. It’s not, of course, the magic itself that is unkind. Caleb knows better than that.

Essek doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t offer the apology he already offered once. He doesn’t even look at Caleb, only sits quietly by his side. And he is now, again, close enough to touch.

One of his hands is resting on the blanket between them. Unlike the spell book, it does draw Caleb’s eye. He remembers as it curled into a fist just as the Scourger’s chest caved inward. He remembers blood dripping to the stone floor as the Scourger collapsed.

That, too, was unkind. And yet it saved Caleb’s life. And yet it protected him from harm.

The weight of the world shifts briefly and then rightens itself again. The sudden understanding slips from Caleb’s grasp. He frowns, pushing the thought away, and looks down.

Essek’s nails are bitten, now. The skin on his knuckles is dry. His wrist seems less slender and more fragile.

Slowly, Caleb trails his fingers over Essek’s hand. That, too, is just a part of the dance. Essek should shiver now, should cast a glance to his side, should meet Caleb’s gaze. And then the script would be familiar, again.

But Essek doesn’t shiver. He doesn’t look at Caleb. Instead, he turns his hand over, palm up, and though it’s not a part of any script he knows, Caleb lets his fingers slide into the gaps.

Essek’s hand is warm. His skin is dry. His hold on Caleb’s hand is light, but when Caleb squeezes his fingers, Essek squeezes back.

Caleb expects him to let go soon. He counts slowly in his head as the minutes tick by. He expects Essek to let go so that he can do something else, something _more_ , so that he can pull Caleb into a kiss and slide a hand around Caleb’s waist to tug him closer. A nervous energy ripples beneath Caleb’s skin at the thought of that, of Essek’s touch on his jaw, on his shoulders, on his back.

But nothing happens.

He expects words, then. Expects empty comforts and empty promises, words that he could turn around and utilize until, once again, no words needed to be said.

But it’s quiet in the room. And now, it’s also quiet in Caleb’s head.

He can’t feel the smoke, only the candle wax. The water has stopped rising, no longer threatening to drown him, no longer pouring into his lungs. Instead, it sloshes around him peacefully, barely knee-high.

And there is exhaustion settling in his body, weighing him down. He has forgotten to feel it, for a little while. Now, though, he can feel the ache in his back, the crick in his neck. He can feel the heaviness in his legs, in his ankles, in his knees, in his hands.

He inhales. Laboriously, his ribcage expands. He exhales and the air rushes out from his lungs. He brushes his thumb over Essek’s hand and feels the texture of Essek’s skin beneath the pad of his finger. And still Essek doesn’t look at him, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t make a sound.

 _I should go_ , Caleb thinks. He says, “May I stay?”

Essek replies, “Of course you may.”

He looks at Caleb, now, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he hasn’t avoided acknowledging him for the long minutes that have passed.

And Caleb doesn’t know how many minutes have passed. At some point, he must have lost count.

He could kiss Essek, now. Should kiss him, now. He should lean in and bridge the gap between them, should tilt his chin the right way, should return the comfort that has been offered.

Instead, he lets the silence continue. The only difference is, Essek is watching him, now. Carefully, like Caleb might not want to be watched. Patiently, like they aren’t always running out of time. And Caleb can do nothing but look back, wondering why his heart, instead of picking up the pace, seems to finally be settling down.

But the exhaustion in his body remains, and his eyelids are growing heavier. He huffs a small breath, reminding his lungs to operate, and tries to stifle a yawn. Essek’s hand briefly tightens on his own and when Caleb blinks himself awake again, there is a glimpse of something unidentifiable in Essek’s eyes, something that causes Caleb’s breath to catch in his chest. 

Then Essek looks away again.

Still confused, Caleb watches Essek’s throat as he swallows, and then continues to watch him as Essek moves to stand. He expects his hand to be released, but it’s not. Instead, Essek pulls him to his feet.

Caleb blinks, forcing himself to focus. This, at least, is familiar. Now, at least, Caleb knows what to do. Essek lets go of his hand, squeezing one last time, and reaches for the scarf, wrapped loosely around Caleb’s neck. This is familiar ground.

Except, Essek’s hands stop before they can touch.

“May I?” he asks. Caleb frowns; stops himself midway from reaching for Essek’s clothes.

He nods. In his head, he switches from one script to the next. But, once again, Essek only waits patiently, until Caleb has no choice but to look up.

“Yes,” he finally manages to say. His voice sounds rough with disuse. “Yes, it’s fine.”

Essek frowns, which Caleb doesn’t understand.

Nonetheless, he reaches for the scarf again, unwraps it carefully from around Caleb’s neck. He doesn’t drop it to the floor, though, or to the foot of the bed. Instead, he steps back and folds it neatly, like it’s made of something precious and not of old wool that is becoming threadbare. He walks over to the desk and places the scarf next to his spell book, and then runs his fingertips over it, smoothing out the creases.

None of Caleb’s scripts cover that. It’s not a part of any dance.

Essek returns after a moment, coming to a stop in the exact same place, watching Caleb with the exact same expression, like Caleb also is something to be handled with care.

He reaches for the collar of Caleb’s coat, now. Caleb expects a gentle tug forward, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Essek once again meets his gaze, his hands pausing until permission is gained.

Caleb nods. This time, it seems to suffice.

As Essek reaches for the collar of the coat, his knuckles brush against Caleb’s neck and a shiver runs through Caleb’s body, another wave of nervous energy following in its wake. He glances up, expecting to meet Essek’s gaze, but instead finds Essek focused on folding the collar of the coat, and then on undoing the first button and the next.

Caleb frowns at the utilitarian way Essek approaches the task; he doesn’t glance up at Caleb from beneath his eyelashes in the way that Caleb would, should their roles be reversed. He doesn’t prolong the contact between them but neither does he rush.

None of Caleb’s scripts cover that, either.

Essek straightens again and circles Caleb to pull the coat off his shoulders. This, too, would be the right moment for the next step of the dance. Should their roles be reversed, Caleb would lean in and brush a kiss against the back of Essek’s neck.

But Essek doesn’t do that. Instead, he helps Caleb shrug the coat off and then walks over to the desk again. Carefully, he drapes the garment over the back of the chair. Once again, he takes the time to smooth out the creases, to fold the collar the correct way.

Caleb shivers once more, unable to look away from Essek’s hands, even when he turns around and returns to stand in front of Caleb again.

He is still collected, still quiet. He doesn’t reach out this time at all, only meets Caleb’s gaze.

“Your book holsters,” he says. “May I help you with them?”

That is the part where Caleb tends to go off the script himself. He doesn’t mind touch on his clothes and doesn’t mind touch on his skin. But the books are more important than that. He needs them to fight. He needs them to protect. He needs them to be of use.

 _No_ , he would once reply. _By all means_ , the script would advise.

He doesn’t say either. Instead, he reaches for his spell book and unclips it from the holster. Then he reaches for the other book and does the same. And then he extends both books towards Essek.

For a moment, Essek just stares at them. Then, very slowly, he looks up and meets Caleb’s gaze. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make empty promises, doesn’t offer meaningless thanks. He accepts the books instead, cradles them in his hands. He places them next to his own spell book, lining them together. He lingers by the desk for a moment, head bowed, and Caleb’s gaze is drawn to the sharp line of his shoulders, the soft silver hue of his hair. Then Essek straightens abruptly and returns to Caleb again.

He doesn’t quite meet Caleb’s gaze and looks pointedly to the holsters, instead.

Caleb simply nods; without the books, the holsters are nothing but straps of leather. Moments later, he realizes his mistake. He has underestimated how thin his shirt is. It has not occurred to him how warm Essek’s fingers would be, skimming over his shoulders as he unclips the holsters with care. When he steps around Caleb to help him take the holsters off, there is a warm gust of breath on Caleb’s neck. That strange, nervous energy ripples beneath his skin again. He stifles a shudder, clenching his hands, and watches Essek as he wanders over to the desk. He folds the holsters and places them on top of the scarf, affording them the same attention and care he granted all of Caleb’s hard-earned belongings.

With some effort, Caleb manages to look away. Now, he is only dressed in his pants and his shirt. There is nothing else for Essek to do except wander back and draw him into a kiss. To this part of the dance, there are no more steps.

And yet, when Essek returns, all he does is touch Caleb’s elbow, guiding him to sit on the bed.

Caleb frowns again as Essek crouches on the floor in front of him and begins to unlace Caleb’s boots. There are quicker ways to deal with that. A lifetime ago, Caleb has seen Essek use a simple spell to unlace his own boots before he dipped his feet in the water. And yet, now Essek unlaces Caleb’s boots by hand.

And once again, his moves are practical, measured. When he slides a hand beneath Caleb’s knee to lift his leg and take the boot off, his touch doesn’t linger. It’s warm and careful, but it doesn’t linger.

Caleb clears his throat. Then he clears his throat again.

Then he says, “I’m sorry I used Dunamancy on those guards. In _Vergessen_.”

Essek glances up at him. “I’m not,” he says evenly. “It kept you safe.”

Caleb swallows tightly. He thinks of crushed metal, of blood dripping onto the floor. He thinks of the words dying on the guard’s lips as the spell sucked all air from his lungs. He thinks of the horror in Jester’s eyes.

“I didn’t use it to protect us, Essek,” he says, although he already told the story once.

Essek sits back on his heels and looks up. His gaze is patient, calm. His eyes reflect the candlelight.

He says, “Of course you did.”

Unbidden, Caleb’s thoughts go back to the Scourger, to the metal shard in her hand, to the blood pouring down his own neck, to the cold, absolute fury in Essek’s eyes as he raised his hand and cast his spell. And he thinks of the guards in _Vergessen_ , of the weapons in their hands, of Jester and Veth just behind his back.

The weight of the world shifts again and for a moment, Caleb almost _understands_.

But then Essek drops his gaze and returns to the task at hand. His touch continues not to linger. Caleb clenches his fingers in the blanket, unclenches them, and the world rightens itself again.

Essek pulls his other boot off and places the pair by the foot of the bed. He continues to crouch on the floor, watching Caleb, and Caleb once again is reminded how easy it would be to bend down towards him, to reach for his jaw and pull him up into a kiss. With the way Essek looks at him sometimes, Caleb has very little doubt that Essek would kiss him back, would run his hands up Caleb’s arms and clench his fingers in Caleb’s hair.

Caleb’s mouth goes a little dry at the thought of that.

Except then, Essek says, “You reverse-engineered one of my spells. Impressive.”

His words are light, teasing, but the smile on his lips is tentative, and Caleb once again is reminded how fragile the things between them really are. How easy it would be to do harm.

And he does not want to do harm.

He clears his throat and averts his gaze. Carefully, he tries to pick up the thread of the conversation again.

“It was a lot, ah… trial and error,” he says, managing a faint smile. “It was a lot of work.”

“I’m sure it was,” Essek agrees warmly, but he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. He says it like it’s the valuable thing. “You should get some rest.”

He pulls himself to his feet, hiding his hands in the folds of his mantle, and with a start, Caleb realizes that this is it. This is all Essek intended to do. Just sit with Caleb in silence for a little while. Help him undress so that he could settle in for the night. Hold Caleb’s hand until his heart was calm, until his mind quieted down.

And there was no price to be paid for any of that.

Caleb rests his bare feet on the floor. It’s wooden, warm. He remembers its texture, remembers how it would creak beneath his weight. He remembers how it looked bathed in sunlight, in a little house far away from here, several lifetimes ago. He remembers the single window and the plain walls. He remembers the crooked candleholder by the bed. He runs his fingers over the blanket and knows it to be old, and warm, and handmade. He can smell candle wax, still. But he can also smell sunlight and endless open fields.

This was meant to be a simple room. And Essek likely sees it as such.

But Caleb knows better, now.

He knows that he is safe here, and that knowledge must have lived in his heart for a while. It must have lived there long enough to weave its threads into his magic, to settle unobtrusively in his mind.

Absently, he reaches to his hair, trying to untangle it from the hair tie. Soon, it will need to be cut. He doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about the way it must look after days on the run, greasy with dirt and sweat, tangled up in knots. It occurs to him that he really should have thought of that before he sought Essek out. Once, he would not make a mistake like that.

Once, he would make mistakes of a more terrible kind.

“Would you allow me to help you with that?” Essek asks.

He is leaning against the desk, with his spell book in hand, and he is very carefully not looking at Caleb. As if on cue, Caleb’s hands grow too heavy for him to keep holding them up.

“I didn’t realize it was so bad,” he says quietly, letting his hands drop to his lap. “I don’t think there’s much to be done about it right now.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Essek says, tossing his spell book to the desk. He hesitates for a moment by the bed, then perches at the edge. “Turn around.”

Caleb does turn around, as best as he can, and waits. There is a tug as Essek removes the hair tie, but other than that, his touch is light. The nervous energy resurfaces for a moment and dissipates again. Essek seems to be sifting through every strand of Caleb’s hair, untangling them gently by hand, and the touch is soothing in a way Caleb doesn’t fully understand. 

He looks around the room again and a strange heaviness settles in his heart. He thinks of a world that is no more, of a boy that would sit in his bed with a book in his lap, of the flicker of flame that would melt away the candle wax. He thinks of comfort that was settled so deep in his chest that it felt like it would always be there, like he would always be safe, like he would always be loved.

“There,” Essek says quietly, and with a start, Caleb remembers where he is and where he is not.

“Thank you,” he says, turning around, and Essek simply nods.

Then, as if unable to help himself, he reaches out and brushes a loose strand of hair behind Caleb’s ear.

And Caleb wants — _something_. He wants with a desperation that coils in his heart, with a desperation so heavy that it almost feels like sadness. He wants so badly that he nearly trembles with the ache of it. Essek watches him, his brow furrowed in a frown. Slowly, his hand withdraws, but instead of dropping to Essek’s lap, it settles lightly on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Would you,” Essek says, and his voice sounds rough, “would you permit me to try something?”

And perhaps _this_ is what Caleb wants. Perhaps they can still find their way to comfort that he knows and understands. Perhaps this is all he needs, perhaps this is what the strange longing in his chest is all about.

He nods.

Essek’s hand, resting lightly on his shoulder, moves to the back of his neck. That is familiar ground. Caleb lets his eyes fall closed. He reminds his body to relax.

And still, the kiss doesn’t come.

Instead, there is a rustle of Essek’s mantle against the blanket and then there is a hand sliding around Caleb’s waist, settling on his back. Caleb’s body moves on instinct to accommodate the touch, one of his hands coming to rest in the crook of Essek’s arm, while another settles uncertainly on Essek’s waist.

For a moment, it’s uncomfortable. It’s rigid and stiff. It’s uncomfortable enough that Essek makes a small noise, as if to apologize, and begins to pull back, but that strange, desperate thing in Caleb’s heart rears its head at that, and his fingers clench tightly on Essek’s arm. There is a pause. Then Essek shifts closer, just enough to adjust his hold on Caleb’s neck, while Caleb’s hand slides to the small of Essek’s back and his head comes to rest on Essek’s shoulder. And then, it’s not uncomfortable at all.

Instead, it’s warm.

Essek exhales a breath that he seems to have been holding for a very long time. His hand clutches briefly at Caleb’s shirt. Then it relaxes again, rubs a circle into Caleb’s back.

There is a part of Caleb that continues to insist that he should do something else, that he should make this worth Essek’s while. That Essek has offered him comfort and that he should offer something in return.

Except, he can feel the way Essek’s body relaxes against his own, breath by breath. He can feel the way Essek tightens the embrace every once in a while, as if to remind them both that they are there. He can feel Essek’s heartbeat against his own chest. It races, for a while, but then, beat by beat, it begins to slow down.

When Essek’s voice comes, it’s shaky, and there is a quality to it that is strange and familiar all the same.

“If you had gone with him,” Essek says quietly, barely a gust of air, and yet his voice commands Caleb’s attention all the same. “If you had gone with Trent, I…”

He pauses. Caleb can feel his throat work as he swallows. He can feel the way Essek’s hold tightens on the back of his shirt. He waits. On instinct, he tucks his nose into the crook of Essek’s neck.

Essek inhales.

“If you had gone with him, Caleb, I… ” He pauses again. Then, softly, he says, “I would have lost my mind.” Another pause. A rustle of material as Essek presses closer, even though there is no space left between them now. “You must understand. You would not simply be missed. The word doesn’t suffice.”

Caleb swallows tightly. The emotion in Essek’s voice is too heavy, too rough. He doesn’t know what to do with a feeling like that. 

“I would do anything, Essek,” he tries to explain, but words are failing him again. “To keep them safe. I would do anything.”

“Yes, you would,” Essek agrees quietly, without a pause. “And it would break my heart.”

_You would not simply be missed. The word doesn’t suffice._

The weight of the world shifts again. Essek’s fingers thread lightly through Caleb’s hair while the candle wax slowly melts away. The floor beneath Caleb’s feet is warm and Essek’s body is warmer in his hold. The desperation that reared its head in Caleb’s heart settles back in his chest.

Quietly, Caleb says, “I would have missed you. If I had left. I would have missed you.”

Essek stills against him, just for a moment. Then he swallows thickly and tightens the embrace.

And then his hands resume their motions, his fingers threading gently through Caleb’s hair, his other hand rubbing circles into Caleb’s back. It is quiet and it is warm. Caleb can smell Essek’s skin and he can smell sunlight and endless open fields. He inhales deeply and thinks of days to come, thinks of ways in which he has learned not to do harm. He thinks of his friends, resting safely in the tower he created with nothing but the affection he carries for them in his heart. He thinks of the ways in which they protect him as well. And he thinks of things he can have, things that need not be earned, things that are his to keep, things that are granted with no demands, things that one day, he might be able to return.

Here, he is safe. Here, he is loved.

This knowledge, too, must have lived in his heart for a while.

_the end._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥


End file.
